The Movie of My Life

Opening Credits: " Radio" by The Corrs

Waking Up: "Promnight in Pigtown" By John Gorka

Falling in Love: "Love and Anger" by Kate Bush

Fight scene: "Hope and Memory" by Howard Shore from "Lord of the Rings: Return of the King"

Breaking up: "It's Alright (Baby's Coming Back)" by The Eurythmics

Getting back together: "Out of the Frying Pan (And into the Fire)" by Meat Loaf

Secret Love: "All I Want Is You" by U2

Life's okay: "I Drove All Night" by Roy Orbison

Mental breakdown: "Erbarme Dich (Matthaus-Passion) , BWV 244" by J.S. Bach

Driving Flashback: "Live & Let Die" by Guns n' Roses

 

Partying: "White Room" by Cream

Happy dance: "C is for Cookie" by Cookie Monster

Regretting: "Strange Times" by Moody Blues

Long night alone: "Goodbye Blue Sky" by Pink Floyd

Final Battle: "Rollout (My Business)" by Ludacris

Death scene: "If God Will Send His Angels" by U2

End credits: "Blinded By the Light" by Bruce Springsteen

Maybe I do want to save the world

When I first saw him, he had what looked like a pacifer dangling out of his mouth. It wasn't a pacifier. It was a mint sandwich cookie. His worker must have fed him an entire bag. He wasn't hyper. He just wanted to be snuggled until after dinner when everything, including the cookies, came back up for a second viewing. The worker said that we were only for the weekend and that would be that. So we told see that this was just a friend for him for the weekend.

He played well with C all weekend.  They shared everything except C didn't want to share me. Recently, C has been mean to me and pushing me away, because we are coming up on the anniversary of the longest time he has been anywhere in his short life. All of a sudden, he no longer had the corner on the Mommy commodities market. I kept reassuring him that D. was just for the weekend and that I AM C's mommy.

I really thought this was just a respite visit until D's worker said that he was looking a permanent home for D. as he was going to a new foster home across the street from us that was not looking to adopt him as he was not of their background. He told J. this only after J. said that D. was welcome to visit us anytime. We cannot go back on our word to C., but I feel bad that I am sending a child back into a system that allowed C to bounce for so long. Right now, D. is in the room next door to C at the day care. I am feeling so much sadness and guilt. I know I can't save the world and I need to concentrate on saving Cooper, but...

Guess How Much I Love You

    Years ago, before D and I were mommies, I went shopping in Flemington, and bought two stuffed animals.  Classic Pooh Bear was for D , who used to say she would decorate her nursery in Classic Pooh, not Disney Pooh, and a My First Peter Rabbit was for my nursery to be. She never did decorate it in Classic Pooh, but rather from the John Lennon Collection. The nursery to be was not to be for me.

    Until tonight, Peter Rabbit sat among a collection of stuffed toys that cover an antique student desk, complete with inkwell, outside my home office door. C has been here over seven months and I never thought to give him what had become a reminder of loss. I had always said he belonged to my son, when I had him. Always in the future, never in the past or present, my son was always in the future- a far off dream in a far off land atop the Faraway Tree of my childhood.

    Every night before tucking him in for the night, C and I read the same two books since his first night here, Guess How Much I  Love You and Good Night Moon. He has memorized them now and reads along with me. He won't fall asleep without them. He went to the zoo today with Daddy's summer camp and took too long a nap when they came home. At bedtime, he was jumping around the bedroom- " Like Nutbrown Hare!" when he should have been listening to his stories.  He had a time out on the bottom of the stairs leading up to my bedroom. When I told him that time out was over and it was time for bed  he said- "Who's that?" He was pointing at Peter. "Whose is it?"

" I guess its yours."

" For me."

" Yes, His name is Peter Rabbit, and he wants to sleep with you.'"

As I gently removed the tag from Peter's left ear, C gave me a big kiss on my right cheek.

100 Things about me- Wouldn't know by looking at me.(Part 1)

100. I had a serious crush on Alan Alda when I was nine.

99.  I have a soft spot for anyone or anything from New Jersey. (Hence some of my taste in music.)

98. I used to subscribe to Ms. Magazine.

97. I was thin for two weeks when I was 15.

96. My first car was a 1967 Ford Mustang that I bought with the money I made working one summer when I was 16.

95. Didn't get my license until I was 21.

94. Got in a car accident less than a week later that almost killed me.

93. I was engaged to a man I did not love. (This was before my husband went from being my friend to being my fiance in the matter of one letter followed by one phone call.)

92. When I took the LSATs my senior year of college I blew them on purpose.

91. My favorite is purple.

90. I have changed many adult diapers and catheter bags but never a baby's diaper.

89. I am supposed to wear glasses, but I don't.

88.  I like to write on walls.

87. I am a third generation Mets fan.

86. I once worked as a waitress in a honky tonk outside Charlottesville.

85. As a child, I had trichotillomania so bad that I have scars in my scalp, including my widow's peak. I don't do it anymore.

84. I have an extremely active dream life.

83. Before C., I used to cry hysterically at baptisms and Mother's Day services. Never at weddings. Not even moist.

82. I eloped with my husband four days before our church wedding.

81. I want to be thought of as hip, sexy and cool. Instead, I am squishy and bland. Kind of like white bread-  that I don't eat.

80. I don't eat grape jelly. Not even on my pbj.

 

 

 

 

Four!

Four places I have worked are:
Rowan University

John Fenwick School

Social Security Administration

Intuit Financial Supplies

Four movies I would watch over and over again: (or is that HAVE watched over and over?

 

Lord of the Rings: Return of the King

The Philadelphia Story

Goldfinger

Ferris Bueller's Day Off


Four places I have lived:
Salem, NJ

East Brunswick, NJ

Fredericksburg, VA

Novato, CA

Four TV shows I love to watch:

Rescue Me
Top Chef

Monty Python's Flying Circus

Law and Order SVU

Four places I have been on vacation:
Out of the country (Just a sample):

Spain

France

England

Greece

In the US:
Louisville, KY

Greenbrier, AR

Stuart, FL

Boston, MA

Four websites I visit daily:

www.deviathan.livejournal.com

www.philly.com

http://emergingwriters.typepad.com/emerging_writers_network/

http://www.stephanieklein.blogs.com/

(and only about 50 more for me !)

Four of my favorite foods (just four?):

 

Soft shell crabs

Lobster Salad

Chicken Pomodoro

Tuscan Chicken Sandwich at Panera's

Four places I would rather be right now:

Eastbourne or anywhere in England

Paris or anywhere in France

Lake Como

Vermont


Four Friends that have been tagged that I think MIGHT respond:

Kathryn

Kellie

Jaimie

Helen

Crossing the Big Muddy

        Driving across the Commodore Barry on my way to work this morning, I kept looking down at the Delaware River as it churned its way southward, chocolate brown turgid water pulling along debris from my Northern neighbours. It reminded of a bloated and angry drunk raging against the injustices and injuries of an inescapable past. May be it was what I put in the mailbox this morning that the Delaware was my own personal Rubicon- "Alea iacta est !" or "Les jeux son faits !"
         What was I doing driving from PA back to NJ? I had two job interviews yesterday. One job I find myself wanting very much even though I  know there will be challenges. The other has detrimental factors that outweigh any potential benefits. I had been struggling with the idea of giving up on trying to find teaching job, and once again changing a career after a career had abandoned me. Now I have two possible teaching jobs, But I have already chosen which one I preferred and it was to them I sent carefully written thank you notes for yesterday afternoon's interview.  I drove to Wilmington this morning so they would have my letters in their hands as early as today. By actively pursuing this position, I placing my future in the hands of the teaching profession. I making a commitment.

Some things I just don't understand

 I have four things on the horizon as far the job front goes. I have two interviews scheduled for Wednesday at two different schools in Delaware. One is the creative arts charter school. The other is an alternative school for students who couldn't hack public school. I also received an email from the paralegal position with the DOJ  that I am on the BQ list and my info has been sent to the hiring authority, who may be calling for an interview.

I applied online today for three positions that were available at another charter school in New Castle. Ten minutes later J called that they had called the house wanting to talk to me. They called on my cell and they did the preliminnary interview which I passed. Okay? So when do I move to the next level? July 20th! The principal is at a conference and is going on vacation and won't be back until then. Fine. But why the rush to contact me and get me through the first cut?

I don't know who's going to feel it more.

    Last week was the week for doctor's appointments. With the upcoming inspection by Department of Licensing, everybody, including the cats, had to be checked out. (It must be Jersey Logic to issue a three year license and then have to be inspected every year.) Because Hazmat is out of the picture, we were able to take C to the specialist to check out his bathroom problem.

    The upshot of it is  C will have to have surgery to fix it. What makes me mad about it is that his problems are further evidence of her neglect of even his most basic needs the eight months she had him. Allowing him to sit in pee soaked diapers for hours when he was a newborn caused scarring on his urethra that now needs to be surgically repaired and his botched circumcision completed.

  The doctor's office is calling tomorrow to schedule the surgery. They tell me that nine percent of little boys have to go through this, but if she had provided proper care (Like changing him when he was wet.) it could have been prevented. We were the first foster parents to even notice that he had a problem and wasn't being defiant when he misfired. Thank heaven for pediatric urologists, but I wish C didn't have to see one. I read online the details on the surgery and I felt sick that my son will have to go through this. It needs to be done, but don't ask me to like it.

Juicing the Muse

When I am not working at Rowan this summer or writing articles for Down Jersey Magazine  or looking for a teaching position for the fall, I am working on my creative thesis, which is also my first novel, at least the first novel that is going anywhere.

I am and have always been extremely right-brained which gets me into trouble more often than not. When I visualize my muse, I always come up with the same person and famous Jersey girl- Meryl Streep. Don't ask me why. I am not a big fan of hers. I prefer Bette Davis or Katherine Hepburn. She is an extremely talented actress, and even she is from New Jersey, so are  many other famous people. Do I total lack imagination?

Allergic to Virginia

      We had celebrated the six month anniversary a day early after J's last softball game of the season. Too hot, too tired to cook, the three of us headed for Mama Mia's  for air conditioning and comfort food that I didn't have to make myself. Six months means that we should be moving forward with the adoption, but we are not. We are stuck in appeal limbo. We know that Hazmat has filed an appeal but we don't know when it will be over.

     We were leaving for Virginia on Friday morning, and by Wednesday my hands had broken out in contact dermatitis, leaving my palms a mess of vesicles oozing lymph.  I had been going  back and forth with the CW to get a new foster parent letter as the one we had was to expire Thursday as if C would turn into a pumpkin. She said she would drop it in our mailbox, and when it didn't show up there Wednesday I called her office. She was out and her supervisor was out on two month's leave. No letter. No visit to my mother who is recovering from botched hip surgery that needs to be redone in July. My skin on my hands kept bubbling. Spoke to the covering supervisor who said she mailed it and hung up on me. J called her back and got her to fax a copy. Why do men get results and women get frustrated?

     In Virginia, the hotel room was nice but my body, already overly sensitized didn't like it. My nose filled and I developed a cough that made my ribs hurt. I am sure C enjoyed having time with his grandma, but I wish I didn't have to suffer for it. I had a haircut while I was there, not because I wanted one ( I am usually loyal to my hairdresser here in Jersey.)

    Mom had said straight up that she hated my hair and that I needed a haircut. I got snippy with her and said sure if YOU pay for it. She drove me to her hairdresser and did just that, but my hair was cut my way to her chagrin. My hair is still shoulder length with bangs. I still got the woman my age speech from her which translates into why do want to wear your hair like your stepmonster speech, but I still left two pounds of medium golden brown on the floor after the beautician thinned it. This was before I got so sick on Sunday. I swear I was coughing up pieces of my brain.

    I took Claritin that didn't touch it. Then two hours later I took two Benadryl and slept the whole four hour drive home. Worked Monday, but by the time I got home the back of my mouth was raw. I couldn't talk. It hurt to breathe. Stayed home from work Tuesday, and woke up this morning with a bloody nose. I feel like I am falling apart.

 

 

Mother's Day

Sunday is Mother's Day, a day that in the past has brought me a great deal of emotional pain as I struggled to become a mother.

This is my first mother's day ever, and John and Cooper already gave me my present, a four slice toaster. Is this a retro present? Yes. Did I want the four slice toaster? Absolutely. It was what I wanted for Mother's Day as our two slicer wasn't cutting it anymore with the three  of us.

 

My mother will not send me a Mother's Day card because in her universe I am not a mother until the adoption is final. Finalization has been postponed indefinitely as Hazmat has finally filed her appeal two weeks after the forty-five days expired. It was not unexpected, but don't ask me to be happy about it.

 

 I am all done with my classes for the  summer, so now I can work on my creative thesis, while working twenty hours a week at Rowan. I have a social worker visit today and C's good bye visit is Thursday.

I also have a job interview tomorrow at an all girls school in DE.

 

We'll see how it all goes.

When I Die

    When I die, I hope my family follows my wishes right down to the music I have already chosen for my memorial service. For the first time, I will have a service with music that reflects me.

I want-" May the Circle Be Unbroken" and " The Water is Wide" in the service with the song I was named for as the recessional- " I'll Take You Home Again, Kathleen." A song with which I have had an ambivalent relationship.

    I have always liked my name, but knowing that the song is about a woman dying far from home and the dreams she left behind there.  My life has been about not letting any dream die. From motherhood to being a writer, I have pursued it all with relentless passion. I want to be able to steal Edith Piaf's musical epitaph- 

Non, Je ne regrette rien when I go.

     My mother is having surgery again this coming week to replace her hip with Teflon, so mortality is very much on mind. She looks back on her life with the eye of missed opportunities and bitterness. I don't think she has ever been happy one day in her life even though she pretends in the interest of family harmony. Makes me wonder if she is already dead while she still breathes. To me that would be worse than dying at all.

I continue to break down

My husband like to say that he loves and is supportive of me, but when it comes down to it I really wonder. He keeps piling up things on the weekends Then I struggle during the week to keep up with my coursework. 

I find myself relapsing into old habits to get my own back. For example, I decided to move my personal account to a different bank to avoid the temptations that had me bound. Since I don't have time to make a special trip up to school to open the account, I took advantage of the online feature and applied online. When the letter came back saying I had to come into the office to do it, he opened it and flipped out thinking I resumed my old ways. Instead, I was making a serious attempt at reform.

What did I do?  If you assume the worst about me, then I want to give you exactly what you expect, which I did. He found out today and is now not talking to me, because he is so angry. Did  I do it? Yes. Was it all my fault? Yes and no.

I realize that he and I have serious problems about power in our relationship and want to work on them. He would rather pretend they don't exist hoping I can reform myself without his having to change.

 

I know I love and I want to stay married to him, but I am not sure he really wants to be married to me, imperfect as I am.

Here I stand

Every Thursday night this semester, my heart breaks a little.  I sit down in the circle of chairs and pray. Pray that my teacher, a critically acclaimed author in her own right, will love me, love my work. Instead, my affections are spurned and self doubt about my life, my work, my talent, even my marriage creeps inside me. I wave my heart at her, begging her to love me, and there is no joy, no happy denouement.

 

Every Thursday night, after class, I sit in my truck and rest my head on the steering wheel. I cry and shake. My tears just come I want her love, her approval so badly. I have lost my faith in my work and talent. I dream of the  director of our program, coming into that class announcing that there is a fraud among us. Someone has been admitted into our program by mistake, and must be removed before they do further damage. She calls my name, and tells me to get out, get out of this room, this circle of writers. I sign my name in my own blood that I agree to a contract written in a language I don't understand. Gathering my things, I rise from my seat while the whole class points and laughs at me. 

That's when I awake. 
 

Trying to decide

I have applied for a job at a community college in PA, and it's looking promising. If I get it, I may be following my friend/mentor's advice and apply to Temple for my Ph.D, but not right away. I need to save my money first. When she first mentioned to me, I thought she was kidding, but I keep thinking about and seeing all the openings in that field. But am I enough of a media junkie to pull it off?

Actually I am more Czech, Scottish and French

You're 75% Irish

You're very Irish, and most likely from Ireland. (And if you're not, you should be!)

How Irish Are You?

I am actually 1/7 Irish, but in the genetic mix I came out looking 100%. My husband, who is 75% Irish, looks German and English.

Being True

Sometimes the hardest person to be is yourself.

I have changed my hair, my address, and my name to gain the love of others. I have deferred my own dreams so others may pursue their own. All my life, I have wanted to be four things; a wife, a writer, a mother and a teacher. I have compromised and sold out my soul to make each one come true. A mirror reflecting what others want to see, what they want to believe.

Now, my mirror days are over.  I need to reflect my own vision, no matter what the consequences to my GPA or to my heart.

 

It's my life after all.

Is this not the feminist dream?

My husband is far from perfect. He is a anal retentive, Type A, left  brain thinking man, who doesn't believe in Valentine's Day. It's simply not his  holiday. He thinks that it is a economic- based conspiracy by the florists, the  greeting card people, the candy people and of course, the diamond people.

This is part of what he claims is his refusal to be romantic when retailers tell him to be romantic. What he is doing right now to me is the romantic thing  of all.

I am going to graduate school full time and working as graduate  assistant and substitute teacher. He is supporting my dreams by taking care of  the rest of our lives together from the child care to the housework while  teaching science full time at the local school.

Tonight I came to flowers. Why? No other reason than I love you and I know  how hard you are working.

They used to say that behind a every great man was a woman, who took care  of all the day to day details so their men could do great things.

I can say that behind this woman is a great husband who believes in her  dream as much as she does. He was the first person to believe in me as a  writer and a poet, and he helps sustain me when the writing isn't going  well.

Virginia Woolf said a woman must have a fixed income and a room of her  own to have the freedom to create. He is giving me all of that.

Now I have to create.

I'm going all in

My editor from the regional magazine has asked me to write another article for the Spring Issue. I have to find out first if they are still holding their garden show in Salem County since it is not listed on their site.

I have decided to submit my creative thesis as a poet rather than a novelist with the emphasis on the relationships between fathers and daughters. It requires emotional risk, but I feel it's worth it. By this time next year, I will need to have written 35 poems of publishable quality for Symposium.

It's about time

When I worked for a federal agency, our office was in a buliding right above a doctor's office. All day long from our cubicle perch we could watch the pharmaceutical reps  parade in and out in their Brooks Brothers suits while listening to the elderly and disabled in our ears complaining about the high cost of the meds that were supposed to help them. In the summers, every Friday, we had a hard time finding parking because of  the huge tent set up in the parking lot. Caterers would come and serve the doctor's office staff  free surf and turf sponsored by one pharmaceutical company or another. 

Little old ladies were trying to decide between medication for their diabetes or congestive heart failure or eating, while their docs were dining off the cuff courtesy of your friendly neighborhood sales rep.

 Do you have to wonder why we called them drug lords?

Apparently, someone has finally gotten a clue.

http://www.philly.com/mld/philly/13703874.htm